


Clint Barton- Cat Whisperer.

by science_weasels



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/science_weasels/pseuds/science_weasels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton- accidental home invader, cat whisperer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clint Barton- Cat Whisperer.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theredbook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredbook/gifts).



> Based on [ this post ](http://tokiosunset.tumblr.com/post/105774914690) and [ this gif. ](http://bit.ly/1zfPJ0X)
> 
> Fluff for TheRedBook, because their Wear Your Heart On Your Skin made me want to start writing again.

The front door swung gently closed. Natasha was awake in an instant, eyes snapping open in the darkness of her new apartment. She heard foot steps moving their way from the door into the kitchen, then stop. She strained to hear any additional movement as she slowly slipped out of bed and into a crouch. She was pretty sure she'd packed the pepper spray in one of the boxes in her bedroom, could she find it in time? This was just her luck. First night in the city, and already she was being robbed? She knew her uncle would never let her hear the end of it. 

Her refrigerator door opened, then slammed shut. "Sam?!" A lightly accented male voice called out in the kitchen. "Sam, why the fuck is there no beer in your fridge?" Natasha relaxed slightly. Perhaps not a burglar then. Just some drunk asshole in the wrong apartment. Of course this would happen the night before her first rehearsal, when she should be sleeping. 

A muffled thud and some not so muffled swearing came from the kitchen. She hurried to find a sweatshirt to throw on over the tank top she'd fallen asleep in and noted with relief that her pepper spray was perched helpfully on the dresser. She grabbed it, just in case, and padded down the hall. 

"Hey, little guy!" The voice came from the kitchen again. Natasha froze, groaning inwardly. If Rothbart attacked the stranger, would she be liable for damages? Probably not, she reasoned, since he had broken into her house. But she didn't fancy cleaning up some random idiot's blood off the cheap linoleum. She quickened her pace and closed the distance to the small kitchen. 

Yes, there was definitely a man in her kitchen. He was bent at the waist, facing away from her, gesturing down at a vaguely ginger shape on the floor. As she watched, he stretched out his hand towards Rothbart, apparently attempting to pet the cat. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Natasha cautioned, visions of taking her Uncle Ivan to the ER for stitches after rescuing Rothbart from the oak tree outside of her old house. 

The man gave no indication of having heard her, and began to pet the cat. Natasha watched in astonishment as the cat leaned into the man's hand and began purring loudly. After a moment, he began to rub up against the man's shins, tail flicking contentedly. The man straightened and Natasha got a glimpse as his face as he stood. 

The man was dirty blond, with strong looking arms, and a few newly formed bruises on his face. His nose was slightly crooked, and one eye was rapidly swelling shut. He squinted at Natasha, brow furrowing in confusion. His right hand went up to his face, thumb and forefinger forming an L as he touched his thumb to his chin. His eyes flicked to the can of pepper spray and back up to Natasha's face, and he looked utterly lost. "You're not Sam." He said after a moment, almost sulkily. 

Natasha shook her head. "Wrong apartment." She said, still watching him warily. A look of slow comprehension spread across his face and he began to blush, still frowning. 

"Dumb Clint." He mumbled, touching his fist to his forehead, before leaning down to pet Rothbart again. He might have been cute, if it weren't for all the bruises, Natasha thought. "Your cat is really nice." He said after a minute, apparently giving up on standing and flopping unceremoniously onto the faded linoleum of a stranger's kitchen. Rothbart reacted with joy, climbing into his lap and settling in with what appeared to be the cat version of a smug grin on his scarred, one-eyed face. 

"Usually he's a little shit." Natasha replied, moving to the edge of the doorway. "You're on my kitchen floor." She added, after a moment. Clint nodded in agreement, but made no attempt to move. Rothbart settled himself comfortably on Clint's lap and closed his eye, still purring. "Can you **not** be in my apartment anymore?" Natasha prompted after a moment. "Not to be rude, but you did kind of break in, and I have rehearsal in the morning." She wasn't going back to bed with a strange guy on her kitchen floor, even if her cat liked him. 

"Oh." Clint said blearily. "Right, yeah. Shit, I'm sorry." He started to push himself off the floor, but stopped and looked down at Rothbart. "What's your cat's name?" Clint asked, gently picking up the cat and giving him a small kiss on the nose before depositing him on the floor and getting unsteadily to his feet. He stood uncertainly in the center of the kitchen until Natasha realized he was waiting for her to move out of the doorway. 

"Rothbart." She told him. "Like the villain in Swan Lake." Clint nodded tiredly, and walked slowly past her to the door. "I'm Natasha." She told him on impulse as she followed him to the door. "And I hope you find Sam, whoever that is." Clint grinned down at her, then winced slightly as the motion pulled at his split lip. "I'm Clint." He replied, turning to head out the door. "And sorry for barging in like this. You really should keep the deadbolt in at night." And then he was gone, walking carefully down the hallway towards the stairs.  
\-----  
When Natasha returned from rehearsal the next day, there was a note sitting on her welcome mat, weighted down with what appeared to be a handmade feather cat toy. She picked up the note and let herself into the apartment, tossing the toy toward Rothbart, who regarded it with his usual disdain. She tossed her dance bag into a corner and flopped on the couch, propping up her feet on the armrest. Rothbart swatted at them with half-hearted malice, then went back to ignoring her. 

_Natasha,_

_Sorry for accidentally breaking into your apartment last night, thanks for not macing me. I'm such an asshole. Can I buy you a drink to make up for it? Promise I won't get in any bar fights this time._

_-Clint_

_P.S.Tell Rothbart I say hello. I had to look up his name, I hope I spelled it right._

At the bottom he'd scrawled his phone number, with the words "TEXT ONLY" written after it. Natasha smiled and folded the note, setting it on the battered coffee table. After a moment, she pulled out her phone and began to type.

**Author's Note:**

> ASL used: 
> 
> [WHO](http://www.handspeak.com/word/w/who.mp4)   
>  [ DUMB](http://www.handspeak.com/word/d/dumb.mp4)


End file.
